Chapter 4
I ended the call without saying another word.
My hands were shaking so badly that I almost dropped the phone.
I stared at the screen.
Arthur Cole.
The grandfather of a baseball superstar.
A wealthy man whose family name was celebrated throughout the sport.
And he had just told me my grandfather should have stayed dead.
I ran into the kitchen.
“Mom!”
She turned from the sink.
“What happened?”
I showed her the call log.
“Arthur Cole called me.”
Her face changed.
“What did he say?”
I repeated every word.
She gripped the counter.
For a moment, she looked as though she might fall.
“Malik, did you tell him where we live?”
“No.”
“Did you tell him about the photograph?”
“No.”
She pulled me into her arms.
“Thank God.”
I could feel her heart pounding.
“Mom, why is he afraid of Grandpa's bat?”
She held me tighter.
“I don't know everything.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
She slowly released me.
“Sit down.”
I sat at our small kitchen table.
My mother stood across from me.
She looked exhausted.
But this time, she didn't try to change the subject.
“Raymond wasn't my biological father,” she began.
I blinked.
“What?”
“He adopted me when I was nine.”
I stared at her.
Grandpa had always been Grandpa.
I never imagined there was another story behind our family.
“My birth mother died when I was little,” Mom continued. “I spent years moving between relatives and foster homes.”
“Then Grandpa found you?”
She smiled sadly.
“He met me through a youth baseball program.”
I looked down at the bat.
“He taught you baseball?”
“He tried.”
She laughed through her tears.
“I was terrible.”
I smiled faintly.
She continued.
“He was kind. He never made me feel unwanted.”
Her voice broke.
“When he learned I needed a permanent home, he became my foster parent and eventually adopted me.”
I stared at her.
“So Grandpa chose you.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
I thought about all the nights he stayed beside my bed when I was sick.
All the times he came to my school games.
He had chosen my mother.
And because of that, he had chosen me too.
“Why didn't he tell me?”
Mom wiped her eyes.
“He wanted me to decide when I was ready to talk about my childhood.”
I nodded slowly.
That part I could understand.
“But what happened in 1996?”
She took a long breath.
“Raymond told me pieces over the years.”
I leaned forward.
“He believed someone inside the baseball organization was stealing money from a fund meant to help injured players and their families.”
I frowned.
“Like a charity?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Raymond discovered payments that didn't make sense. He started asking questions.”
“Arthur Cole?”
“He suspected Arthur.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened next?”
“Raymond planned to meet a journalist.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
She looked toward the window.
“He was warned that someone wanted to stop him.”
“Who warned him?”
“A teammate.”
“Who?”
She shook her head.
“He never told me.”
I thought of the bus crash.
“The accident happened after that?”
“Yes.”
Mom sat down.
“Raymond told me he got off the team bus before it left because he received a message telling him to meet someone.”
I felt cold.
“He wasn't supposed to be on the bus?”
“He believed someone wanted him isolated.”
“Then why did everyone think he died?”
My mother swallowed.
“His bag and identification were on the bus. After the crash, there was confusion about the victims.”
“But he could have told people he was alive.”
“He was injured later that night. He told me he woke up in a hospital under another name.”
I stared.
“How?”
“He said someone helped him.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
My mother looked ashamed.
“He was afraid to contact his old life. He believed the people involved in the theft could hurt anyone close to him.”
I struggled to understand.
“Did he have proof?”
“He said he hid something before he disappeared.”
I looked at the bat.
“Inside this?”
Mom followed my gaze.
“Maybe.”
I told her about the numbers and the photograph.
She studied them carefully.
Then she pulled out her phone.
“We need to call Coach Harris.”
He answered immediately.
I put the call on speaker.
When I explained Arthur's threat, his voice became hard.
“He contacted a child?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you record it?”
“No.”
“Keep the call log. Don't delete anything.”
I nodded.
Then I told him about the hidden date.
He went silent.
“What date?”
I read it aloud.
June 14, 1996.
Coach Harris inhaled sharply.
“That's the day before the bus crash.”
My mother looked frightened.
I continued.
“There are numbers under the date.”
“What numbers?”
I read them.
“Four, seven, two, nine.”
He repeated them.
Then asked, “Is there a symbol beside them?”
“A star.”
The coach said nothing for several seconds.
“Walter?” my mother asked.
His voice sounded strained.
“I remember that symbol.”
“From where?”
“The old team equipment room.”
I sat forward.
“What does it mean?”
“We used to mark special storage lockers with small metal stars.”
My heart pounded.
“Could the numbers be a locker?”
“Possibly.”
He paused.
“But that stadium was demolished years ago.”
My hope collapsed.
Then he continued.
“Some of the old equipment was moved into the baseball history museum.”
I looked at Mom.
“That's inside the stadium.”
Coach Harris nodded.
“Yes.”
I gripped the phone.
“Then we have to check.”
My mother shook her head.
“Not tonight.”
“Mom—”
“We're not walking into a stadium where Arthur Cole can find us.”
Coach Harris agreed.
“Denise is right.”
I felt frustrated.
“But what if the evidence disappears?”
“Then we need to move carefully,” he said.
He promised to contact a trusted attorney and a museum archivist before anyone touched the records.
That night, I could barely sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Grandpa sitting on our balcony.
I remembered his rough hands.
His soft laugh.
The way he always told me that courage wasn't the absence of fear.
“It's doing what matters while your knees are shaking.”
I finally understood what he meant.
The next morning, Coach Harris called.
He had spoken to an archivist named Olivia Brooks.
She had confirmed that several storage crates from the old stadium were still kept in a restricted collection.
One was labeled with a faded star.
My heart raced.
“Did she find locker 4729?”
“Not yet,” Harris said.
“But she's located a catalog entry that references that number.”
I jumped from my chair.
“Then it's real!”
My mother looked terrified.
Coach Harris continued.
“We're meeting at the museum after it closes. Olivia is arranging supervised access.”
I wanted to go immediately.
But before the meeting, something unexpected happened.
Ryan Cole appeared at our apartment.
I opened the door and froze.
He stood in the hallway wearing a plain gray sweatshirt.
No expensive jewelry.
No television cameras.
No teammates laughing behind him.
Just Ryan.
I gripped the door.
“What do you want?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Can we talk?”
I stared at him.
“You already said enough yesterday.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I know.”
My mother appeared behind me.
“Ryan?”
He looked at her.
“Ma'am, I'm sorry to show up like this.”
She folded her arms.
“How did you find our address?”
He hesitated.
“My grandfather had it.”
My stomach tightened.
Mom stepped forward.
“You need to leave.”
Ryan nodded.
“I will. But first, I need to tell you something.”
I almost closed the door.
Then he spoke.
“I heard Grandpa on the phone last night.”
I stopped.
Ryan looked at me.
“He was talking about that bat.”
“What did he say?”
Ryan swallowed.
“He told someone the evidence had to disappear before Walter found it.”
My mother gripped my shoulder.
Ryan continued.
“And Malik, there's something else.”
I looked at him.
“My grandfather has a private room at his house filled with old baseball things.”
“So?”
Ryan's voice dropped.
“I saw a photograph in there.”
My heart pounded.
“What photograph?”
He looked directly at me.
“It was your grandfather.”
I froze.
Ryan swallowed.
“And he wasn't alone.”
“Who was with him?”
Ryan hesitated.
Then said, “My father.”
I stared at him.
Ryan's father had died when Ryan was six.
At least, that was what the newspapers said.
But the photograph he described had a date written on the back.
May you like
A date from years after his father's supposed death.
And suddenly I wondered whether my grandfather wasn't the only person Arthur Cole had helped erase from the world.
